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Rudimentary is the latest representation of Footscray’s stealthy gentrification-round-the-edges. Four forty-foot containers on a previously derelict block of land at the back of the shopping strip, with seating indoors and outdoors, and plenty of space for bikes, kids and growing their own veg. What’s not to like?

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It’s nice sometimes to have an unplanned evening out in new territory. And so it was that I found myself in Hawthorn of all places, seeking shelter from the winter’s night in Tinto, a brand new Spanish restaurant not far from the Auburn Road junction. Nestling between local Greek joints and coffee shops, this place is newly open and a great addition to the neighbourhood.

Having owned and run the family restaurant in their ancestral home of Barcelona for many years, sisters Maria and Paola returned to Australian where they’d grown up, leaving the third sister behind to mind the shop. A careful search for the right location threw up 555 Burwood Road, a decent-sized space decorated simply. The long bar is definitely reminiscent of a good Barcelona tapas bar, and many of the staff are also Spanish.

The wine list is a nice blend of local and Spanish wines. My companion and I chose the Marques de Tezona tempranillo, and a few dishes to be going on with. Co-owner Maria recommended the coca, a racion of goat’s cheese and onion marmalade on flatbread, and we augmented that with some croquettes de jamon and the inevitable (for an Irishwoman) tortilla.

The coca came out looking like a long pizza, and it was just divine. I could have simply had that to myself and a nice glass of red, sitting up at the counter with a book in my hand if I didn’t have company for dinner.

The croquettes were four lightly deep-fried morsels of cheesy/hammy perfection, and the tortilla portion was generous, eggy and just warmed through.

We finished off with a racion of calamari, again very lightly fried and just perfect to end with.

I’m sorry this place is a little out of the way for me, because it could very easily become a regular haunt. Maria said she wanted to own a place where a woman could come in and dine alone in comfort, and they’ve certainly got that vibe. I’ll find a reason to return just for that coca! Thanks, Maria and Paola.

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On a cold, miserable night in WeFo, we drove down to the site of the old Palmerino’s for the opening night of 540 On Barkly.

Since we’ve lived in Footscray, Palmerino’s looked like an old boys’ bar with a badly stocked off-licence attached. It always looked like a great place to renovate as part of the rebirth of West Footscray. And suddenly here we were, quaffing Mount Gay Extra Old and a good Clare Valley shiraz in a newly decorated bar, sampling the passing trays of chorizo meatballs, arancini and bacon-wrapped mozzarella as we dodged the smokers coming in from the beer garden beyond.

The place was thronged with people: a smattering of new-style Westies and a fair number of after-work blokes in fleeces and steel toe capped boots. Was it my attention or was the average age a lot higher than I’d anticipated?

The front restaurant area was unfortunately cordoned off for now: the new owner Simon told us that they were still awaiting the transfer of the old off-licence to an on-site liquor licence, so no alcohol was allowed in the space. There were nine or ten tables in what used to be the old bottle shop, walls lined with framed photos. Elsewhere in the bar and upstairs in the huge function room, enormous green, red and blue abstract paintings dominated.

A couple of nights later we wandered back down to see what things were like without the opening night crowd. Again, we were steered away from the main restaurant area to a place in the bar. A handful of other diners had chosen the warmer tables, so we had to choose between a serious draught from the beer garden door or the main door.

Another glass of Clare Valley shiraz and a Mount Gay Extra Old. We ordered the chorizo meatballs and the calamari to share as a starter, then a porterhouse steak for Orlando and the gnocchi with lamb ragu for me. The meatballs were served with some Turkish bread and a small bowl of salad, and went down a treat.

Sadly, the calamari never came even after some polite questioning.

Orlando’s porterhouse steak was a decent size and nicely cooked, although perhaps a tiny bit more medium-rare than medium.

My gnocchi were lovely but – a personal preference – it would have tasted better with more finely grated parmesan rather than the larger flakes. An offer of freshly-ground black pepper would have been nice, but didn’t come.

By 8.30pm the place was empty and we headed to the bar to pay the bill. We chatted to Simon and his sister Julie, who asked for feedback, good or bad. We gently mentioned the missing calamari but complimented the rest of the food. Then their EFTPOS wasn’t working, which the waitress had also neglected to tell us, and we only just scraped enough cash together to pay the $99 bill. Simon was most apologetic, invited us back next time for calamari on the house and assured us the EFTPOS would be up and running in a day or so.

It’s early days for 540, but hopefully it will be a welcome addition to the WeFo scene. Simon promises live music in the beer garden during the summer months, and a more casual seating area once the restaurant section is functional. He wants to build on the reputation he had during his previous tenure at the Mona Castle, and for him it’s all about the food.

It’ll take a bit of time to bed in over winter, but I wish Simon all the best and we’ll visit again soon to hear how he’s doing.

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A work get-together brought me to Misty’s Diner, a genuine American diner right next door to a car wash at the bleaker end of Prahran High Street.

A happy buzz, colourful booths and a wall of American junk food greeted me as I walked in from the cold.

Misty herself is from Phoenix, Arizona. She was tending tables that evening herself, checking on food orders, handing out birthday cakes and getting the drinks in. I asked whether her chilli had capsicum in it, and she answered stoutly. “Absolutely not. I hate capsicum. This is a capsicum-free restaurant.”

I was immediately interested. I hate capsicum too.

The menu was long and carb-loaded. Starters are a predictable mix of potato skins, corn chips, an onion ring tower and other deep-fried goodness. My gang went straight for the main courses. Burgers were high on the list, but I went with the “Get In My Belly”: personally recommended by Misty herself, it promised the heady combination of sliced smoked pork shoulder, spicy barbecue sauce and home-made coleslaw.

When the food arrived it was certainly on the generous side, and almost impossible to pick up and eat with one’s hands. The burgers were perilously tall and looked pretty good, however there were none of the groans of delight I’d expected.

My pork shoulder creation was indeed nice enough, but the pork shoulder looked and tasted no different to what you’d get at the supermarket deli counter. The “Po Man’s Cocaine” extra hot sauce I asked for was simply a small bowl of mild sauce with some chilli powder and chilli flakes shaken in. Hardly home-made or authentic.

A brave soul ordered the Hangover Cure – from its description we couldn’t even tell if it was technically a burger. It was: with mac and cheese, chilli con carne, jalapeños, American bacon and red onions. It was gargantuan as opposed to just huge, and frankly it just looked like a huge mess on a plate. He ate it but he wasn’t overly impressed.

One lone soldier dared to order a salad. It didn’t look bad, but it’s not what you come here for.

Fries come in full or half sizes which is nice, and you can order them skinny, fat, curly, waffle, with gravy, with cheese, with gravy and cheese…. you get the idea.

I had mine with chilli, because I could. The chilli was in no way spicy or hot.

Drinks are the predictable beer/soft drinks/wine list, however when I asked for a glass of shiraz I was told they’d run out. I was offered a glass of sweet shiraz which hardly bore thinking about. I opted for a grenache instead. When it came out it had clearly been poured from a bottle that had been open a couple of weeks. Even the non-wine-drinkers at my table could smell the musty staleness. Freshly poured from a newly-opened bottle it was drinkable enough, but then we weren’t there for the beer (so to speak).

Prices were reasonable – around $13-17 for a burger. Actually, now I’ve written that down, maybe it’s not so great. But the portions are large and the atmosphere is fun. I suppose if you head in during the day you can even get your car washed while you wait.

Will I blaze a trail back there anytime soon? Perhaps not. But it was an OK night.

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I work in the boondocks, in a small, faceless light industrial estate miles from anywhere interesting. Happily, in a nearby strip mall there are two respectable places for a woman to have lunch when she needs to escape the office: Chapter Too and The Village Food Store.

The Village Food Store is all blonde wood, white tiles and bi-fold windows, a tiny eatery which earnestly proclaims its local-food, fresh-cooked approach to food on its small menu. It has become a bit of a haunt for me when I need respite from spreadsheets and reports.

The menu is as small as the premises, but everything is indeed freshly made from local ingredients as far as possible. This means you might have a tiny bit of a wait for your tangy Asian chicken salad or your sublime chorizo and bean soup. The Village Food Store has something for every season, and for the most part it’s all healthy choices. Their tea is loose leaf and their teapots large. These days I am greeted with a familiar smile every time I walk in, and I can sit in peace and solitude for forty-five minutes, eat some heavenly healthy food and head back to work feeling like I’ve had a proper lunchtime.